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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292819">Sanity In This</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/borys/pseuds/borys'>borys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metalocalypse (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drug Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Trans Male Character, not very graphic tho, trans pickles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:13:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/borys/pseuds/borys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Some firsts in Pickles' life</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sanity In This</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>don't read this if sexual assault triggers u &lt;3 but like i said, it's not super graphic</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>first kiss</i>
</p><p>Pickles’ real first kiss was in 8th grade.</p><p>Of course, he had kissed other people before. In kindergarten, on the playground, a boy had chased him and pushed him to the ground. While he lay in the dirt, the boy gave him a sticky apple juice kiss square on the lips. Pickles and his friends beat the boy up later, a flurry of skirts and mary jane shoes.</p><p>He had been a girl then, red hair in pigtails. It didn’t even feel like him in that memory.</p><p>But his first real kiss was in 8th grade, at 13 years old. He had started calling himself Pickles one year before, and he cracked the skull of anyone who called him his birth name. In a fit of rage, he chopped all his hair off one night, high on ketamine. He was so close to finding out who he was, his elusive true self scraping his fingertips.</p><p>The guy was originally Seth’s friend. But he had become more of Pickles’ friend when he realized that Seth liked to steal money from the people who trusted him. He was 19, tall with black eyes and the beginning of a mustache, two awkward wisps of hair above his lip. </p><p>He wasn’t particularly attractive. At least, not to Pickles. But he gave him free weed and called him by his preferred name and Pickles knew he wanted him. He liked being wanted. </p><p>So, when the guy put his hand on his thigh while they were watching a movie, he didn’t move away. When the guy turned to him and picked an eyelash off his cheekbone, he looked in his eyes. And when the guy rushed forward and pressed their lips together, Pickles pretended he was somebody else.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>first fight</i>
</p><p>Most of the other kids at his school didn’t like Pickles.</p><p>And that was fine. He didn’t really like them either. As long as they didn’t talk to him, or talk about him, or look at him, he didn’t have much of an issue.</p><p>But some of them like to fuck with him.</p><p>More specifically, they liked to fuck with him because he was a tranny.</p><p>Pickles didn’t even know the word until they started calling him that, and he asked Seth what it meant. A boy who wanted to be a girl, or a girl who wanted to be a boy. He admitted that it did sound like him, it wasn’t an entirely inaccurate insult. But he didn’t want to be a boy, he was one. </p><p>He made this distinction very clear to anyone who asked. Unfortunately, his classmates were not quite clued into the nuances of gender identity.</p><p>So, he found himself fighting a lot.</p><p>He couldn’t even really remember his first, he got in so many. But his first where he got injured was with a senior when he was a freshman. Pickles didn’t remember much else about his opponent. Many years of drug addiction had peeled away his memory like old paint from a wall. It was a man, he knew. Taller than him and much stronger, probably some football player.</p><p>Pickles got his ass beat, plain and simple. He limped home with a broken wrist, two black eyes, and a bruised sternum. His parents finally agreed to take him to the hospital after he spat up a thick clot of blood onto his dinner plate.</p><p>When Seth asked who did it a couple days later, he answered. Seth scoffed at him. “That guy?” He said, rolling his eyes. “Even a scrawny girl like you should be able to kick his ass.”</p><p>So Pickles launched across the dining room table and tackled him to the ground, not for the first time. Turns out, wrist casts are pretty good weapons.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>first time</i>
</p><p>He was 15 and had a mind cloudy with xanax and vodka when his pill dealer put his hand down his pants.</p><p>His dealer was named Morris, he was 32 with a wife and three kids. He had a xanax prescription because he’s a veteran and an adderall prescription for his ADHD. He met Pickles at a shitty house party, and had clung to him strangely ever since. Pickles knew Morris was in love with him, his slight figure and teenage gullibility. And he was an addict, the easiest target of them all.</p><p>They were in Morris’s basement, when his wife was gone on a trip and his kids were at school. It was dark and damp and stank like weed and sweat. The walls were bare concrete, and so were the floors. Like a prison cell.</p><p>The memory is wispy, fades in and out like a flickering picture. </p><p>He remembered Morris unbuckling his heavy studded belt, struggling with the button and zipper of his pants.</p><p>He remembered his boxers at his ankles and he remembered how the fan above him oscillated off-kilter, like it had been broken.</p><p>He remembered sharp pain, like a paper cut. </p><p>He remembered closing his eyes and waiting it out.</p><p>And he remembered Morris rolling off of him, sweating and making foul sounds. </p><p>He told Nathan about this, 30 years later. Nathan got so mad that he flipped his bed upside down, the four legs of it sticking straight in the air.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>first love</i>
</p><p>Speaking of Nathan. </p><p>It wasn’t really “love at first sight” or anything. In fact, he spent a very long time convincing himself that him and Nathan were just best friends. They did everything together, he liked being around him and vice versa. He hadn’t really had a friendship like that before, so he clung to it.</p><p>He ignored the fact that, about once a month, he would wake up from a dream where Nathan picked him up and threw him on the bed and kissed a long line down his stomach. He ignored those dreams for almost 10 years. It didn’t mean anything. </p><p>But there came a point, in his early 30s, that he just… realized. No kind of struck-by-lightning moment. No particular action by Nathan spurring it on. He saw Nathan, in the very early morning, shuffling to the kitchen to get breakfast, when he sleepily thought to himself, “I’m in love.”</p><p>The thought didn’t scare him much, either. He had fucked guys plenty of times in his life, even thought about dating some of them, so it only seemed a natural progression. Even if Nathan didn’t appear to feel the same way.</p><p>That wasn’t to say that Nathan and Pickles had been entirely platonic their whole friendship. </p><p>Nathan was a sappy piece of shit when he smoked weed, plain and simple. If they were smoking together, it usually ended with Nathan petting Pickles’ head like he was a kitten. Or, very rarely, he would pull Pickles close to him and hold him in his arms, pressing Pickles’ head to his chest.</p><p>But it didn’t matter if Nathan felt the same way. He heard that heartbeat, <i>thump-thump thump-thump</i>, and knew he was safe.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title from "prison sex" by tool</p><p>also i am trans so like. if you have problems with my portrayal of trans pickles, idk what to tell u lol</p></blockquote></div></div>
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